Fred and George's Guide to Household Pests
by imkerfuffled
Summary: It's summer time, and the Weasley family is stuck spending the holidays with Auntie Muriel. But that's okay, Fred and George have a plan...
1. Arrival

**AN: The title of this piece was shamelessly ripped from one of Gilderoy Lockhart's books. He can't sue me; he doesn't remember writing it!**

**Oh yeah, I just realized I forgot to do a disclaimer for my last story, so here's one for both: I don't own Harry Potter anywhere outside of my own imagination, and if I did... well, I wouldn't be writing this would I?**

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**Saturday Afternoon:**

"Well, we're here," said Arthur, setting down his suitcase on the stoop. The _thump _it made on the pavement had an air of quiet foreboding about it, and Fred couldn't help thinking that this was the last chance they had to run for it. He chanced a sidelong glance at George, who was doing his best to re-rumple his hair that their mother had just hastily flattened. George caught his eye and grimaced slightly. Charlie scratched his nose furiously, taking this last chance to do so, knowing that when the door swung open they would all have to act like perfect little angels, "or else" as Molly had said. Percy, however, was standing up straight with his hands clasped in front of him, an expression on his face that not even The-Aunt-From-Hell (as Fred liked to call her) could find fault in. Behind him, Bill was staring at Percy with a bemused look that plainly said he would _never _put this much effort into impressing _anybody, _let alone the person who lived in this house. Little Ron, on Bill's other side, was pale with apprehension. His face had a green tinge that it only acquired when he was really dreading something. Standing in the back, Ginny gripped her mother's hand, bouncing eagerly on her toes. At four years old, she was still too young to remember their last visit. Fred would have felt sorry for her if he wasn't already preoccupied with feeling sorry for George and himself.

After what felt like an hour, Arthur took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to postpone the moment he would have to knock on the door. Finally, unable to find any excuse to delay it further (and because Molly was shooting him A Look), he raised his fist and let it fall on the wood. If the suitcase's thump had felt foreboding, this felt like the summons to one's gallows. Ron gulped.

Another hour later, the sound of footsteps could be heard padding across a carpeted floor inside. Fred resisted the urge to run back to the car and refuse to come out till September first. A fleeting image of what would happen if he did do that crossed his mind, before the scraping of a key in the lock reached his ears, amplified tenfold by the silence outside. Everyone stiffened. The tension in the air was audible.

The door creaked open, and a beaky nose poked through the gap. It belonged to a woman whose red-rimmed eyes and pink, feathery hat gave her the outward look of an elderly, bad-tempered flamingo.

"Merlin's beard, Arthur, you're finally here! I expected you _hours _ago, what kept you?" Auntie Muriel barked. Before her nephew-in-law could speak she continued, "And can't you get the kids looking at least _respectable_? Honestly, William's posture is absolutely _horrendous;_ stand up straight, boy! Charles' nose looks like a tomato, and he's far too skinny. The twins are scruffy, and if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, Molly; find _some _way for normal people to tell them apart. Ronald looks like he just swallowed a streeler, and Ginevra here is just bouncing off the walls—honestly, Molly, what do you feed them? I'm telling you, you have far too many children to be getting on with!"

Their two-week stint in hell had begun.


	2. Instigation

**AN: Shorter chapter this time, sorry guys! **

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**Sunday Morning:**

The family sat down to breakfast the next day in total silence. Auntie Muriel was the only person doing any talking, but nobody (except Percy) paid enough attention to do more than nod or make angry remarks at the right times. Everyone was wondering how they would survive the next two weeks of this. If Fred and George—indeed if most of the Weasleys—had had their way, they would not have come at all. But it was hard to argue with Molly when she got an idea in her head, and often arguing only made it worse. Now however, even the great matriarch herself looked like she was having second thoughts about her decision, as they had to sit through Muriel's endless carping on about her neighbors, waiting for the inevitable moment when she would transfer her disapproval to the family. It was torturous.

_But not, _Fred thought, _for long. _If his and George's idea went as planned, then they wouldn't have to put up with much more of Muriel's critique, and it all started when Arthur unwittingly said…

"Muriel, I am going to have to—well, the Ministry is holding a meeting with all the office heads, and—er," he set down his knife and fork and took a deep breath, either to waste time or as a means to remind himself to just get it over with. "I will be leaving on Tuesday for the Ministry meeting."

As predicted, Muriel exploded. Fred had a funny feeling that his father had recommended these dates for their vacation just so he would have an excuse to not be there. He had conveniently forgotten about the big, important Ministry meeting until the day before they left, though Fred distinctly remembered Arthur packing his work robes the day earlier.

"I've had enough of you! First you show up late, now you have the _audacity_ to tell me you're leaving already? Oh, but what should I expect from a _Weasley_? I don't see _what _Molly sees in you! You're whole family is _completely_ _worthless_! I remember your _brothers_ were just as bad…!" Auntie Muriel continued her rant while Arthur cringed sheepishly from behind his waffles. After finally exhausting the subject of Arthur's family, which included everyone from his parents to his second cousins once removed, Muriel proceeded to carry on about the Ministry (its complete disregard for employees' personal lives, its failure to recognize summer as prime vacation time, and the utter stupidity of Cornelius Fudge to name but a few). She then posed the question of Arthur's salary, and Arthur sank even further below his breakfast. (This prompted a scathing remark from Muriel about his posture).

Fred couldn't help but be amazed that his father had ever been in Gryffindor.

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**Poor Arthur! I just love him too much to not do this to him :)**


	3. Phase One

**AN: This chapter is a bit longer. Sort of. A tiny bit. By a few lines. Ah, who am I kidding, it's not longer. **

**The next one is, though. I promise.**

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**Tuesday Morning:**

The morning dawned bright and early, and Muriel wanted to make sure everyone could enjoy it. For a witch of ninety-five, she sure didn't act it.

"Come on, wake up, you lazy lot. Get up, get up!" her shrill voice could be heard from all corners of the house. "It's already eight 'o clock, what are you all doing asleep still?"

Fred groaned and rolled over, stuffing his pillow over his ears. In the bed next to him, George did the same. "Are her clocks two hours fast?" he grumbled into the bed sheets.

"Must be," said Fred. In the room next door, Bill could be heard saying _exactly_ what he thought about Auntie Muriel, while Percy told him off for saying it.

"Can't we just skip breakfast and only show up before dinner?" George complained. Fred smiled. He was, for once, looking forward to dinner.

Tuesday passed by in much the same manner as the last two days. Everybody had to stay on their best behavior and answer to Auntie Muriel's every beck and call, for fear of another incident like Sunday morning's. Arthur kept glancing at his watch in anticipation of four 'o clock, when he could escape to the Ministry meeting. The clock, Fred thought, was going backwards. Somehow this day was really being rewound, and soon it would be time for breakfast again. He pointed this out to George, who agreed wholeheartedly. Every second felt like a minute, but, after what seemed like days, Muriel finally called Molly into the kitchen to help her make dinner. Fred grinned conspiratorially at George, who slipped a handful of small, round objects into Fred's pocket. Their plan was about to enter its final phase.

Fred and George slipped into the dining room unnoticed by the two women in kitchen, who were elbow-deep in flour. Muriel appeared preoccupied with showing Molly the correct way to crack eggs by magic. Fred hoped that would keep them busy until he and George were done.

Quietly, the twins pulled the dozen Dungbombs back out of their pockets, made their way to Muriel's chair, and silently stuffed as many as they could underneath the seat cushion. The rest, they hid in the other chairs around the house. Fred winked at George and rummaged around in his pockets. After a few minutes, his attempts became increasingly frantic as he searched desperately in every pocket he owned.

"George," he finally said, "I can't find the Puking Potion."

George bit his lip, "do you have anything else we could use?"

"I don't think so…" Fred put his hand back in his pocket, "I've got a bit of Sleeping Potion, a Wiggentree twig, some puffapods, Wartcap Powder, a bag of Bertie Botts's, a couple Acid Pops, a paper clip…" He rattled off a long list of items to an incredulous George, who's jaw had dropped almost to the floor.

"Wartcap Powder?" he said finally with a look of skeptical desperation.

Fred shrugged.


	4. Implementation

**AN: Last chapter folks! I had a ****_lot _****of fun writing this one. So, enjoy! :) **

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**Tuesday Afternoon:**

Ginny poked her scared face into the kitchen, torn between her newly-acquired fear of Auntie Muriel and her fear of what would happen to her brothers if she didn't say something. "Mummy," she squeaked, "Freddie and Gorge are covered in cereal!"

"What's that, Poppet?" Molly asked, relieved for an excuse to turn away from Muriel for a moment.

"Dey're _covered _in _cereal_!" she shouted, her eyes wide.

Molly paused with a confused look on her face. "They're covered in… what?" she asked.

"_Cereal_!" Ginny jumped up and down frantically, desperate to get her point across, "I t'ink dey've got a h'infection!"

"All right, Ginny," Molly looked like she wasn't sure whether she should be worried or amused. She knew what Fred and George were like. "I'm coming."

Ginny grabbed her mother's hand and dragged her into the living room, where Fred and George stood sheepishly in the middle. The whole room was covered in a fine, white powder, and the twins were liberally coated with the stuff. Wherever it came into contact with their skin, it had formed a crusty, sickly-brown covering that did indeed look like cornflakes.

"Hi Mum," said Fred jocularly, "You probably don't want to come in here right now, it's kind of…" He seemed to shrink, though, as Molly leveled her glare at him. George gave a guilty shrug, shedding excess powder from his shoulders.

Molly exploded.

Ginny crept back to the room she shared with her parents, where Arthur was double-checking that he had everything he needed in his Undetectably-Extended trunk. She had never meant to get Fred and George in trouble; she had thought they had a deadly disease and were going to drop dead any second. Ginny tried not to listen to Molly's shouting, but it was hard not to, especially when she heard a screech from Muriel as she stepped out of the kitchen and saw the ruin of her living room. As the yelling continued, though, Ginny had to suppress a grin. It was pretty funny, what the twins had done.

Eventually, Molly and Muriel cooled down enough to send Fred and George to bed with no supper (after fixing their skin problem), and Arthur was called into the living room to help siphon off the rest of the Wartcap powder. At that point, Ginny had worked up the courage to creep behind her father to watch. By the time they were finished, it was time for Arthur to leave for the Ministry. Everyone but the twins—who were still sentenced to their room—waved Arthur off as he got into the car. Muriel just scowled. Ginny wished she could have gone with her father. Any Ministry meeting had to be better that putting up with Auntie Muriel for another week-and-a-half.

Once again, everyone sat down to their meal in silence. Bill, Charlie, Ron, and Ginny were too busy fantasizing about a boring Office-Head meeting, and Muriel, Molly and Percy were still fuming about Fred and George's exploits.

Suddenly, Bill put down his fork and said, "Does anyone else smell something?"

Ginny sniffed the air. Now that he mentioned it, there was a strange smell hovering over the table.

Charlie took a bite of his chicken casserole. "It smells almost like—" he began to say, then abruptly bit his lip in an effort not to laugh. Percy, who was sitting to the right of Muriel wrinkled his nose and surreptitiously tried to scoot his chair away from his great-aunt, where—Ginny realized—the horrible smell was coming from. Ron turned green again.

"What?" snapped Muriel, "What smell? I can't smell anything."

Charlie let out a poorly suppressed snort of laughter which he somehow managed to pass off as a sneeze, while Bill was turning red in the face in his attempt to prevent himself from doing the same, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"Will _someone_ tell me what in Merlin's name is going on!" shouted Muriel.

Charlie couldn't take it anymore and finally gasped, "Dungbombs! It smells like Dungbombs!" The corners of Ginny's mouth twitched upward. It wasn't hard for her to guess who had planted the Dungbombs. Molly's face paled, and Percy—abandoning all pretenses—shoved his chair as far away from Muriel as he could. Bill burst into laughter and fell off the side of his own seat at the sight of this. Ron's jaw dropped.

Auntie Muriel looked momentarily speechless.

At that moment the front door flew open and Arthur dragged Fred and George into the house with a look of great exasperation on his normally-pleasant features. George plastered a winning smile on his face and waggled his fingers hopefully at his mother. Molly was not pleased.

Muriel exploded.

Exactly ten minutes later, the nine Weasleys were booted unceremoniously from the premises, with the parting words, "And don't you dare show your carrot-topped faces in my house again!"

Nobody could say they were sad to leave.

Fred and George were treated as heroes during the car ride home. During the whole hour-long flight, Bill, Charlie, and Ron all took turns slapping their backs and laughing. Ginny smiled until her mouth hurt.

"Alright," Charlie finally said, "We're all dying to know how you did it."

"Well," said Fred, "It's a secret."

Everyone in the car went ballistic with protests.

"You want to know what really happened?" George almost had to shout to be heard above the ruckus. Heads bobbed excitedly from every seat.

"We started by hiding the Dungbombs in Muriel's chair," said Fred, "And then…"

"Then," George finished, "We created the Wartcap-Powdered Living-Room Fiasco."

"You reacted exactly as planned, Mum," said Fred, "And sent us off to our room to be forgotten."

"After that, it was a simple matter, really…"

"We just snuck into your room while Dad was cleaning up the Fiasco…"

"And hid in his trunk!" George finished happily.

Ginny grinned even wider than before. The only person who was _not _impressed by the twins' story was Percy, who listened to it all with pursed lips and a tight expression. Even Molly said (rather reluctantly), "Well, I guess we won't have to—I mean—won't be able to go Auntie Muriel's house anymore." Fred and George grinned widely at each other.

Arthur was driving (or, more accurately, flying) the car. About five minutes after they left, Molly had suddenly cried, "Arthur, don't you have your meeting to get to?" Arthur sheepishly admitted that it wasn't very important, really, and it didn't affect his office very much anyway. Fred and George grinned again.

The ride home seemed to pass much quicker than they remembered, and everyone was still in good spirits when they arrived at the Burrow. As they helped unpack the luggage, Fred and George found themselves still the center of attention. Charlie gave them a last pat on the back, and Arthur passed them on his way to the house with a bemused sort of smile on his face.

"Should we tell him?" George asked.

"Tell him what?" said Fred, "That half his underwear is currently residing in Auntie Satan's sock drawer so we could make room for ourselves in his trunk?"

George caught his twin's eye, smiled, and waved it off.

"Nah… We'll let him wonder."

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**PS: us fanfic writers need feedback to live. It is our daily sustenance. Food for the poor? :)**


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